


Jesse Walsh

by JQ (musicmillennia)



Series: Dragon Week 2017 [3]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Cyborgs, Dragon Battle, Dragon Riders, Dragons, Gen, Horror, M/M, Magic, Past Brainwashing, Past Torture, Soul Bond, disturbing imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 10:04:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9229988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicmillennia/pseuds/JQ
Summary: [Day 3]Mick's dragon is a bit...unconventional.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The situation's not ENTIRELY like Jesse Walsh's (Nightmare on Elm Street 2), but I couldn't just leave this as "Untitled" and it's a Horror Dragon story so why not? :D
> 
> If you're unfamiliar with the reference, don't worry about it. Like I said, the situation's not really the same, it just reminded me of the (shit) movie.

In Alaska, there's a little spot in Denali that's settled along a mountain. There are three hotels, each with shuttle services that come around every forty-five minutes. In the town, there are gift shops upon gift shops upon gift shops, a weed cache, and the best pizza joint in these United States.

Mick and Len stroll out of Prospectors with a couple take-out bags stuffed with pizza. The Land of the Midnight Sun holds true to its name: Mick checks his watch just to be sure, but last time he looked it was past ten and there's still plenty of light behind the thick cloud cover. Even after a couple months, he's still not used to it.

"It's gettin' cold," he says.

Len gives him a sardonic looks. "Welcome to Alaska, Mick."

Mick growls, bundling tighter in Len's parka. The bastard's not even breaking stride as a chilled breeze brushes over his thermal shirt and jeans.

"It's still [sixty-five degrees](https://www.google.com/webhp?sourceid=chrome-instant&ion=1&espv=2&ie=UTF-8#q=fahrenheit%20to%20celsius)."

"Anything below seventy  _sucks_. Why did I let you talk me into this shit?"

"'Cause next week we're flyin' to California. And Alaska's legalized weed."

They don't have any assignment in California. Pretty sure the military just stuck them out here 'cause they didn't know what to do with "reformed criminals" outside of publicity stunts. So they're free to be criminals and dick around however they want, all without having to hide their dragons.

Yes, it's one of Len's better schemes. Yes, Mick likes the freedom.

But it's  _sixty-five degrees_.

Granted, it's not Len's fault that Mick has a Timefire. The point still stands, damn it.

The swirling black Russian on the side of Len's neck pulses gold. He idly rubs it, saying, "Lisa's almost here. Two minutes, Mick."

Mick grumbles some more, clutching the still-hot pizza box against him. He's not looking forward to that. Lisa's awesome, don't get him wrong, but if there's one thing Mick hates more than cold, it's flying. Call him a dragon rider all you want. The wind pressure and jarring maneuvers are terrible, and the  _heights_ , ugh. He's thrown up in the air more than once.

But it's either Lisa or a cramped bush plane. Mick'll take his chances with the live dragon.

"Couldn't wait it out inside?" he says.

"Not full enough for a flame?" Len asks.

"Doesn't matter. Still cold."

Len snorts and keeps walking. Mick has no idea where they're headed. Across the street is another hotel, and farther down to the left, a drop-off with excited tourists. Rising beyond all of that, great mountains stand over a river, touched with clouds and bits of green among their rich brown.

Mick will say that Alaska's pretty damn beautiful.

Len heads left, down the dirt road instead of the walkways in front of the shops. This state barely knows the definition of traffic, so there's no worry over that. Now Mick's got an idea: there's a landing spot marked for dragons just past a convenient store and the shuttle drop-off. There used to be one behind the shops, but mobile homes and RVs have taken that up.

Mick pauses near the weather rock. "You said two minutes."

"Yes."

"Then who's that?"

Len follows Mick's eyes. A shadow cascades over the cloud cover, vague but definitely dragon-shaped.  Len's mark is never wrong; if he senses Lisa's two minutes away, she's two minutes away. And seeing as how the Rogues are at the glacier they use for training, a good hour's flight on dragonback from here (so worth it for the clean water), that's either another military dragon or a stranger altogether. Neither of which are appealing.

The dragon dives down, swooping over the amazed tourists on the drop-off. They're hunter green with brown patches, thin with rocky scales. Their wings are well-muscled, as most of Alaska's dragons' are with flying being the best way to get around. Mick'd say it was a Susitna but for the coloring. Unless it's one of the Rapids breeds, but they stick to their mud burrows deep underwater, and this one's proportions are all wrong, body too thin and wings too bulky.

They bear no crest or saddle though, so that's something. Could be they're just here to visit someone. Though Mick knows that's unlikely, and his gut's telling him that's not the case.

To prove his point, the dragon's dirt-crusted talons scoop a tourist from the ground and shoves the poor woman into their yellow fangs.

Len's mark pulses with red veins. Lisa has sensed that her bondbrother is in danger. But Len himself remains calm as he looks to Mick.

"Now might be a good time," he says tightly.

Mick grunts and hands over the pizza. "Better step back."

Len's already a couple feet behind him. He's learned from experience to keep out of the splash zone.

Mick takes a deep breath. Then he pries open his mouth.

In the back of his throat, two bug eyes peer out from a leathery black and green hide slick with saliva and mucus. After a moment of watching the unknown dragon, two talonless paws catch on the inside of Mick's cheeks and  _pull_.

Mick gags, dry heaves, then bends over and vomits. Through the mess, a black and green dragon emerges with a deep, bellowing roar. As soon as a part of him touches air, that part punches physics in the face and grows into a fifty-ton beast.

The membranes of his wings have no spines and are attached to rounded arches instead of the sharper bone structure dragons are usually known for, causing them billow around him like a cape. His head is smaller as well, more rounded, with two mechanical bulbs in place of ears or horns, covering the place where they were ripped out. His snout is flatter as well, making his eyes look twice as large and fearsome. The only pointed parts of him are his unsheathing gunmetal gray talons, thin and deadly white teeth, and beetle green scales that look black under the cloudy sky. His tail is all metal, as are a couple elbows. He wears a chestplate that vibrates with his heartbeat despite its titanium density, bearing a flaming insignia over an hourglass.

Mick coughs and shakes. The heat in his stomach is gone, as is the small rounded plumpness. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and watches his dragon soar to battle, shuddering off his fluid coating on the screaming people below. Len grips his shoulder to help steady him.

Kronos used to be spelled with a 'Ch', but Mick thought it'd be funnier to adopt the Titan's name with the legend behind it and their little situation. All told, he and Kronos aren't that friendly. Obviously they don't talk much. But they rely heavily on each other, both in their symbiotic relationship and in battles like these. Having been born of Time and synthetic breeding, Kronos was dependent on the Time Masters who imprisoned him. He can manipulate reality and even travel through time once in a while, but he has to have a humanoid to live in.

Mick had been captured by the Time Masters and stuffed with Kronos to help the induction process along. Kronos oozed brainwashed protocol back then, which in turn got into Mick's head. But in the end, human survival instincts won, and Kronos found himself amazed at Mick Rory's memories of fire and freedom where his previous hosts were either fully inducted or a Time Master themselves. He labelled Mick as Rider instead, and curled in the warmth of his stomach instead of along the spinal cord.

Kronos doesn't come out that much. He can fly and hunt perfectly well and carry many on his back, but he and Mick have seldom done so. Sometimes he can be coaxed out for leisure, but mostly he sticks to eating what Mick eats and sometimes crawling up Mick's esophagus to peek through his lips before retreating. It's only through battle that he eagerly emerges, probably because it's what he knows best. Because of the Time Masters, he doesn't adapt to change very well.

Kronos wields his bulk with Lisa's agility against the enemy dragon. He ducks and twists under the dragon's frontal assault, catching onto their underbelly with his front paws and twisting their neck between his hindlegs. With a sharp yank, he turns them over and shoves them to the river, only to roar and dive after them to tear into their chest.

The dragon's heart is exposed, along with the translucent organs containing clothes, bits of hair, and ripped human flesh. As the humans keep screaming themselves red and hoarse, Kronos clamps his jaws on the spine and rips it out with a strong tug, taking the throat and tendons with it. The dragon goes sightless and falls limp under his talons.

Kronos drops the gargantuan corpse before Mick. He's now soaked with blood, guts, and the dead, but his dark eyes are lucid.

"Nice," Mick says, voice still rough from Kronos' emergence.

Kronos hums, a filtered whir. His insides are more metal than the outside appendages, including his vocal cords. The Time Masters shaped him into more cyborg than flesh. But he's still  _awesome_.

And really, Mick doesn't blame him for those dim hunting years. They're not friendly, but there's a mutual battle-hardened respect and trust, and that's what they care about.

So Mick freely holds out his hand to touch Kronos' snout. "Thanks for the save."

Also, one perk of the machine voice:

"Of course." Kronos can adjust his draconic rumbles into human speech. "Are you unharmed?"

"Yeah."

"Can't say the same for those tourists," Len drawls.

"Casualties are to be expected in every battle," Kronos replies smoothly.

"It'll make for one helluva story though," Mick says.

"And that, kids, is how I met your mother," Len replies.

Kronos, having spent however many years connected directly to Mick's brain functions, rumbles a polite laugh. "A good joke, Leonard."

He  _almost_ sounds sincere. They're still working on the whole lying thing. But his responses to Len's awful jokes and puns make Mick laugh, which pleases them both well enough.

"You gotta wash off before I swallow you," Mick says.

Len rolls his eyes. "Word choice, Mick. This is a family-friendly town."

"Even with the weed?"

"The family who stones together stays together. I should know."

True. Len'd gotten most of the Rogues up to Alaska with promises of the caches.

Any other conversation is cut off by a gold blade sliding to the ground and scooping Len in its claws.

Len's smirk eases into a fond smile. "Hey, sis."

Lisa's icy blue eyes complements the frost heaving from her nostrils. Len scoffs.

"What'd she say?" Mick asks.

"You are so lucky your boyfriend can deep throat a dragon, you  _jerk,_ " Len translates. He and Lisa have a rare telepathic bond, and sometimes Len won't say what she's thinking at him to keep it as a private joke between bondsiblings.

But this one was apparently too good to pass up.

"I do not have genitalia," Kronos reminds her, "And my rider and I do not engage in sexual relations."

Mick purses his lips. "Will you just burn the body already?"

"When we are clear of other flammables, certainly." Kronos touches the flame on his chestplate. After a quick scan of his paw, it unlocks a saddle with a hiss, latching around a convenient spot in front of his wing joints.

(Though it's not so convenient as much as it's by design. Kronos used to have neck and back spikes.)

More focused on the anxiety of flying than the blood, Mick steps into Kronos' waiting paw and settles himself in the saddle. Lisa jams Len on hers.

"Mick and I got pizza," Len says.

Lisa eyes him suspiciously. They've got a few shifting spells handy, and with Kronos' space-time magic, they can make it strong enough to befit a dragon. Meaning, she can taste the pizza. She can savor the pizza.

She sniffs and sticks her snout in the air. Mick takes that as forgiveness, though he suspects she only pretended to be mad to get the pizza. He swears she and Len actually share blood.

Both riders take their goggles from their necks and strap them on, gloves following from their pockets. Once Mick and Len give the okay, Kronos takes the corpse in his paws and pushes off, Lisa following.

Later, Mick and Kronos watch the great fire soar to the sky. Kronos made sure to light it on the inside so the scales can burn. The dead can't stop that, Fire or no.

"It'll be nice n' hot in California," Mick says.

"I would prefer the cold," Kronos replies.

"How dare you?"

"Fire is magnificent," Kronos says, "but when it comes to weather, heat is deplorable to me. I suppose I am too used to the vortexes of space and time."

Mick grunts. "Tough. We're goin'."

"I do not object. Where you go, I follow."

They watch the fire until the corpse is a pile of embers. It's gotten a smidge darker out.

Kronos is cleaned up and shiny. Mick clears his throat and swallows a few times. Lisa and Len enjoyed the leftover pizza together a ways behind them; he'll hitch a ride as planned before that feral attacked. Which means Kronos has to get back to nuzzling his stomach lining.

"Actually," Kronos says, "I wish to carry you back to base myself. If you wish," he adds hastily.

Mick blinks. "Oh. Well, sure, if you want."

Kronos purrs in approval and holds out his paw.

All in all, not a bad night.

**Author's Note:**

> Endings. Ha! What are endings, amirite?
> 
> Yes, Kronos is responsible for that Tum in this 'verse. God bless that dragon for such a gift (said Leonard Snart, probably).
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
